Alouette
by ethnonyms
Summary: Tamiya knows she has to play the game just right, even if she doesn't get the rules. Milly/Tamiya; kiddie femmeslash, roleplaying.


Milly likes to refer to it as "practice."

Tamiya herself isn't so sure. This doesn't seem like a _normal_ thing that little girls do together, in the privacy of their shared rooms. She and Milly are the best of friends, of course, for all that they've only known each other for the year and a half they've both been at Kadic Academy, but how far is that sort of bond supposed to go? It can't be that they're both co-anchors and journalists-in-training on the school news team, because neither of them would ever breathe a word of this to the press; never, never, _never_. It can't be only that they're rooming together, can it? There has to be something _else_ fueling this, something unique, and sometimes the reporter in Tamiya demands to know what it is, demands an explanation for the giddy uncertainty pooled in her chest like wine. At those times she wants nothing more than to strip away all the illusions and get to the meat of the truth. Her parents let her drink, sometimes, when she goes home for the holidays and eats meals with them. The odd lightness in her head reminds her of _this_.

Still, the smarter part of Tamiya knows when to keep her mouth shut, when to bite down on the words hovering at the tip of her tongue. Milly's _sensitive_, has always been a bit sensitive, and saying the wrong thing could always set her off—which would mean the end of their little game once and for all. Tamiya doesn't want it to end.

Calling it a game doesn't seem right either, though, she reflects, staring unblinkingly into her best friend's bright, eager eyes, boring into her from the other side of the bed. Tamiya swallows, her mouth dry. But then, what else is this supposed to be?

"_Okay,_" Milly says, half-smiling with nervous anticipation. She nervously runs her tongue over her lower lip, unthinkingly, unaware of how Tamiya's entire focus shifts to hone in on the small movement, waiting with bated breath. "Now, let's see. For this one, I'm going to be Yumi, and you'll be Ulrich, _finally_ confessing how he feels about her." She giggles at the romanticism of it all. "You got it?"

"I _always_ have to be Ulrich," Tamiya says, faintly annoyed. "Why can't I be Yumi for a change? We both could use the practice."

That's the whole point of this, at least in theory. They're working up to the point where they'll be ready to do this with boys, _hopefully_ Ulrich, but probably someone a little closer to their own age, if they're being realistic. Tamiya thinks about the myriad possibilities sometimes in the middle of class. Who else could ever be so handsome? It's no wonder Sissi follows him around like a hopeless stray.

Sissi, with her shimmering black hair and sharp eyes.

Milly pouts, bringing Tamiya back to the present. Some of the gleam in the other girl's eyes has died out, a damper on the excitement. "That's not true at all!" she accuses, jabbing an index finger into a tender spot between Tamiya's ribs. Tamiya winces, and Milly continues. "We _both_ get to be Yumi, just as much as the other! That's how it works."

That's not true at all, but Tamiya doesn't say it, merely staring at her friend to wait for the inevitable decision. It could go one way or another, but she's not going to push.

Milly wavers, then ultimately relents, huffing angrily as she subtly shifts her posture on the bed, trying to be taller. More masculine.

"Okay, _fine_," she says, and Tamiya allows herself a faint smile, even though Milly probably will let her anger mess up the performance, spoiling the whole game. That's not really important. In Tamiya's opinion, it's enough that she was willing to give it up in the first place.

As she watches, Milly takes a deep breath, composing herself. She closes her eyes and opens them again a moment later, looking over to Tamiya's side of the bed. To Tamiya's surprise, the other girl seems to be deep into character, her eyes dark and burning, the way Ulrich's do when he's focused intently on something. Her heart flutters.

"Um. Hey, Yumi," Milly says, her voice intentionally deeper than usual, catching a bit in her throat. "There's, ah...there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

Milly's hands are fidgeting in her lap, twitching, the way Ulrich's do when he's feeling upset or agitated. They've both watched him plenty enough to know. Is this _pretended_ nervousness, meant to be his? Tamiya wonders. Is it playacting? Or is it Milly's?

"What, ah, what is it, Ulrich?" Tamiya answers, keeping her own voice carefully friendly, shyly excited. She allows a ghost of a smile to grace her own lips, mimicking the way Yumi's face lights up the tiniest bit, whenever she sees _him_.

Tamiya watches the older girl sometimes from a distance, to see how she talks to Ulrich, to the other boys. It's...informative.

She wonders. Is she really just trying to learn?

Milly waits for a moment, debating, then starts into it for real. "Yumi, I—we've known each other for a long time, right?"

"For over a year now," Tamiya says, carefully puzzled, inwardly buzzing with anticipation. "Why do you ask?"

Milly blushes. "Well, lately, I've been thinking," she says, glancing down at the bed, refusing to meet Tamiya's eyes. "I mean, we're really good friends, and all, and I really feel like we—"

"Yes?" Tamiya breathes.

There's a long pause. Milly has to compose herself before she answers. "Yumi, I," she forces out, looking directly into Tamiya's eyes, "I like you, all right? I have for a long time. I don't know if you..." She trails off, the perfect picture of vulnerability. "...if you, you know, feel the same way, Yumi, but I _had_ to tell you. I couldn't stand it anymore!"

Tamiya blushes furiously. "Really? H-How long?" she manages, glancing at the wall, the ceiling, anywhere but toward her best friend.

"Since forever, Yumi" Milly says, shakily. Exposed. "As long as I've known you. I always..."

And there it is. "Oh, Ulrich, I feel the same way!" Tamiya says dramatically, reaching over to close the distance between them. She grabs Milly's hands in her own, heart hammering. "I kept waiting and _waiting_ for you to say something, but, I could never be sure—"

"You mean it, Yumi?" Milly asks, relieved, almost giddy with it. "Seriously? You feel the same way?"

"Of course, Ulrich," Tamiya says, tenderly. "All this time." She waits through the careful pause.

Then, on cue, they both start to lean forward, little by little, their faces inching closer and closer until their noses are mere centimeters apart. Tamiya stops there for a few seconds, caught off-guard by the _intensity_ she can see in Milly's eyes when the other girl meets her gaze. She feels frozen. Time stands still.

They both know that it's Yumi who has to seal the kiss: that Ulrich would only get flustered and back down if she stopped, would let his insecurities take over and drive him away.

Tamiya knows this, tries to fight the paralysis holding her in place. If she doesn't finish the kiss now, it's gone forever.

But she can't move. She closes her eyes, defeated—and then suddenly feels a press of warm lips against her own, delicate and inexperienced, but determined. Tamiya's eyes fly open, surprised, and there's Milly, reaching up to place her shaking hands on Tamiya's shoulders, gently pulling them closer together. They're kissing.

It breaks after a few seconds, and Tamiya finds herself breathless, head swimming, still so close to Milly that she can feel the other girl's breath ghosting across her lips. They've done this before, but this isn't how it's supposed to happen. This is going against all the scripts they've carefully laid out over time: Yumi and Ulrich, Paul and Naomi, Theo and Sissi. This is different.

"Ul—Ulri—" she tries, but then gives up, unable to make herself finish the word. It feels wrong. "_Milly,_" she tries instead. "Milly, listen, this is—"

"Will you shut up?" Milly growls suddenly, so _very_ Milly and not like Ulrich at all, her small hands tightening their grip on Tamiya's shoulders so hard that it's nearly painful. Her tone is incredibly familiar, all kinds of bossy and needy and...well, _Milly_. There's no other way to describe it. "We always do the same old thing, it's all _baby_ stuff, don't you think we're ready for something different? We're not in sixth grade anymore!"

And then she's smashing their mouths together again, teeth clacking from the sheer force of it. Tamiya's crossed eyes widen in surprise as she feels a tongue slipping into her mouth, forceful and demanding. They've gone this far before, but it's always required a justification, a long wind through the layers of the game, building up to the good stuff one step at a time. This isn't like that.

Tamiya finally has to pull away to breathe, the sounds of her heaving chest ragged in her own ears. "_Wow_, Milly," she says, dazed, unable to think of anything else to say. "Just where did that come from, huh?"

Milly pulls back a bit, breathless herself, looking a little angry and a lot embarrassed. "Oh, I don't know!" she says, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "What does it matter, anyway! Maybe I just got tired of doing the same old thing, did you think of that?"

Tamiya finds herself caught up in the other girl's eyes, which are now so dark that they're nearly black, shrouded with a hard emotion that she can't name. She swallows. "I didn't say _stop_," Tamiya says loudly, reaching for the fabric of Milly's shirt, and then their bodies are a frenzied mess, impatient hands grabbing at the hems of leggings and reaching up beneath each other's blouses to get at the skin underneath, mouths locked, pressed down hard into the bed.

Milly groans into her mouth, the sound frustrated and needy, and Tamiya catches herself thinking, _I sure wouldn't mind doing this one again._

(It is, after all, good practice.)


End file.
